Sherlock, Season 2, episode 1: A Scandal in Belgravia part 2
Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan.
Polite request: If you take extracts from this transcript for use elsewhere, and especially if you repost my own words, it would be kind if you would acknowledge the source and/or give a link back to this transcript. Thanks.
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Very shortly afterwards Sherlock has taken off his coat and is sitting on a sofa in the elegant sitting room and looking around. Hearing footsteps approaching, he sits up a little and holds his handkerchief to his cheek.
IRENE (offscreen): Hello. Sorry to hear that you’ve been hurt. I don’t think Kate caught your name.
SHERLOCK (in his posh tremulous voice): I’m so sorry. I’m ...
(He turns and looks at Irene as she walks into view and stops at the doorway. His voice fails him when he realises that, with the exception of high-heeled shoes, she is stark naked. His jaw drops a little.)
IRENE: Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright, isn’t it?
(She walks into the room and stands directly in front of him, straddling his legs and half-kneeling on the sofa, then reaches forward and pulls the white dog collar from his shirt collar.)
IRENE: There now – we’re both defrocked ...
(She smiles down at him.)
IRENE: ... Mr Sherlock Holmes.
SHERLOCK (in his normal voice): Miss Adler, I presume.
IRENE (gazing down at his face): Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?
(Narrowing her eyes, she lifts the dog collar to her mouth and bites down onto the edge of it. As Sherlock stares up at her in confusion, John walks into the room carrying a bowl of water and a fabric napkin. His eyes are lowered to the bowl to avoid spilling its contents.)
JOHN: Right, this should do it.
(He stops dead in the doorway as he lifts his eyes and sees the scene in front of him. Irene looks round to him, the dog collar still in her teeth. John looks at her awkwardly, then down at the bowl before looking up again.)
JOHN: I’ve missed something, haven’t I?
(Irene takes the collar from her teeth.)
IRENE: Please, sit down.
(She steps back from Sherlock, who fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa as she walks away.)
IRENE: Oh, if you’d like some tea I can call the maid.
SHERLOCK: I had some at the Palace.
IRENE: I know.
(She sits down in a nearby armchair and crosses her legs, folding her arms gracefully to obscure the view of her chest.)
(They stare silently at each other for several seconds, weighing each other up. John looks at them awkwardly.)
JOHN: I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone’s interested.
(Sherlock’s eyes are still fixed on Irene while he attempts to make as many deductions about her as he can. His final analysis is as follows:
Bewildered, he turns and looks at John and starts to analyse him:
Looking at his neckline: Two Day Shirt
Looking at his lower face: Electric not blade
Looking at the bottom of his jeans and his shoes: Date tonight
John frowns as Sherlock continues to gaze at him.
Looking at John’s right eyebrow: Hasn’t phoned sister
Looking at John’s lower lip: New toothbrush
Looking just underneath his eyes: Night out with Stamford
Relieved that he hasn’t had a brain embolism, he slowly turns his head and looks at Irene again. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he applies all his deductive reasoning as she smiles confidently back at him, and he quickly comes to the following conclusion:
IRENE: D’you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?
(He quirks an eyebrow at her.)
IRENE: However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.
SHERLOCK: You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?
IRENE: No, I think you’re damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself.
(Apparently fed up with the tightness of his shirt, Sherlock starts unbuttoning the top two buttons. Irene leans forward.)
IRENE: Oh, and somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.
(She glances across to John momentarily. John forces a laugh.)
JOHN: Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all. (He looks down at what he’s holding.) A napkin.
IRENE: Why? Are you feeling exposed?
SHERLOCK (standing up): I don’t think John knows where to look.
(He clicks the ‘k’ on the last word. Your transcriber, who totally loves a Sherlockian ‘k’-click, giggles inanely. Sherlock picks up his coat, shakes it out and holds it out towards Irene. Ignoring him for the moment, she stands up and walks closer to John, who rolls his head on his neck uncomfortably and forces himself to maintain eye contact with her and not to let his eyes wander lower.)
IRENE: No, I think he knows exactly where.
(She turns to Sherlock who is still holding out the coat while steadfastly keeping his gaze averted.)
IRENE (taking the coat from him): I’m not sure about you.
SHERLOCK: If I wanted to look at naked women I’d borrow John’s laptop.
JOHN: You do borrow my laptop.
SHERLOCK: I confiscate it.
(He walks over to the fireplace opposite the sofa.)
IRENE (putting on the coat and wrapping it around her): Well, never mind. We’ve got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know.
(She walks over to the sofa and sits down.)
IRENE: How was it done?
IRENE (taking off her shoes): The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?
(The boys look confused.)
SHERLOCK: That’s not why I’m here.
IRENE: No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs but that’s never gonna happen, and since we’re here just chatting anyway ...
JOHN: That story’s not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?
IRENE: I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes.
JOHN: Oh. (He sits down beside her.) And you like policemen?
IRENE: I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.
SHERLOCK (incoherently): Positionofthecar ...
(John and Irene stare at him while he quickly pulls himself together.)
SHERLOCK (starting to pace slowly): Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That’s all you need to know.
IRENE: Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?
SHERLOCK: He wasn’t.
IRENE: You don’t think it was murder?
SHERLOCK: I know it wasn’t.
SHERLOCK: The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.
IRENE: Okay, but how?
SHERLOCK: So they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in.
(The two of them exchange a significant look, then John gets up and puts the bowl and napkin on a table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. In the hallway he looks around, then picks up a magazine from a nearby table and rolls it up. Back in the sitting room, Irene sits up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door.)
SHERLOCK (starting to pace again): Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car.
IRENE: Oh. I – I thought you were looking for the photos now.
SHERLOCK: No, no. Looking takes ages. I’m just going to find them but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time.
(He stops and turns to her.)
SHERLOCK: Two men, a car, and nobody else.
(He squats down and suddenly it’s as if he is at the crime scene, squatting down next to the driver’s door of Phil’s car. Inside, frozen in time, Phil’s face is screwed up with rage while his hands are raised, about to slam down angrily onto the steering wheel.)
SHERLOCK: The driver’s trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere.
(Straightening up, he turns and looks into the field.)
SHERLOCK: And the hiker’s taking a moment, looking at the sky.
(Now he’s down in the field, walking around the hiker who is also frozen in time.)
SHERLOCK: Watching the birds?
(He looks doubtful.)
SHERLOCK: Any moment now, something’s gonna happen. What?
(Nearby, Irene is sitting on her sofa which has mysteriously appeared in the field near the hiker.)
IRENE: The hiker’s going to die.
SHERLOCK: No, that’s the result. What’s going to happen?
IRENE: I don’t understand.
SHERLOCK: Oh, well, try to.
SHERLOCK: Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. (Sarcastically) It’s the new sexy.
IRENE: The car’s going to backfire.
SHERLOCK: There’s going to be a loud noise.
IRENE: So, what?
SHERLOCK: Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance ...
(Back in the sitting room – which they obviously never really left – he pauses dramatically and a moment later a smoke alarm starts to beep insistently from the hall. Out in the hall, John had set light to the end of the rolled-up magazine, blown it mostly out again and allowed the smoke to drift upwards. Now he waves his hand over the magazine and blows on it to try to put it out completely. In the sitting room, Irene turns and looks at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock turns his head and follows her gaze.)
SHERLOCK: Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.
(He walks over to the fireplace and begins running his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. Finding a switch under there, he presses it and the mirror slides upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it. Sherlock turns and looks at Irene as she stands up.)
SHERLOCK: Really hope you don’t have a baby in here.
(He calls out.)
SHERLOCK: All right, John, you can turn it off now.
(In the hall, John is still trying to put out the smouldering magazine.)
SHERLOCK (loudly): I said you can turn it off now.
JOHN: Give me a minute.
(He starts thwacking the end of the magazine on the table, grimacing when sparks fly up from the paper, but then looks round as three men run down the stairs. The first one raises an enormous pistol – the silencer of which is so long that he must be compensating for some other shortcoming – and fires it up at the smoke alarm, shattering it. The beeping stops. One of the other men hurries towards John, aiming his pistol at him and John instantly raises his hands, looking at the first man as he walks over and stops in front of him.)
JOHN: Thank you.
(In the sitting room Sherlock is looking closely at the number pad on the front of the safe.)
SHERLOCK: Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit’s always on the first key used – that’s quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I’d say from the make that it’s a six digit code. Can’t be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight’s barely used, so ...
IRENE: I’d tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have.
(Sherlock frowns at her.)
(The door bursts open and the leader of the group, Neilson, comes in and aims his pistol at Sherlock.)
NEILSON: Hands behind your head. (To Irene) On the floor. Keep it still.
(A second man goes over to Irene and walks her nearer to John who is being bundled in by a third man.)
JOHN: Sorry, Sherlock.
(As Sherlock raises his hands, Neilson looks round at Irene.)
NEILSON: Ms Adler, on the floor.
(His colleague shoves her to her knees beside John who has also been pushed to his knees and is doubled over with his hands behind his head and a pistol pointed to the back of his neck.)
SHERLOCK: Don’t you want me on the floor too?
NEILSON: No, sir, I want you to open the safe.
SHERLOCK (clocking his accent): American. Interesting. Why would you care?
(He glances across at Irene as she puts her hands behind her head.)
NEILSON: Sir, the safe, now, please.
SHERLOCK: I don’t know the code.
NEILSON: We’ve been listening. She said she told you.
SHERLOCK: Well, if you’d been listening, you’d know she didn’t.
NEILSON: I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr Holmes.
JOHN: For God’s sake. She’s the one who knows the code. Ask her.
NEILSON: Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman.
IRENE: Mr Holmes doesn’t ...
NEILSON: Shut up. One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship.
(Sherlock glares at him ferociously.)
NEILSON: Mr Archer. At the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson.
SHERLOCK: I don’t have the code.
(John cowers down as Archer presses the muzzle of his pistol into the back of his neck and cocks the gun.)
SHERLOCK (emphatically): I don’t know the code.
SHERLOCK: She didn’t tell me. (Raising his voice) I don’t know it!
NEILSON: I’m prepared to believe you any second now.
(Sherlock looks across to Irene who lowers her gaze pointedly downwards.)
SHERLOCK: No, stop!
(Neilson holds up his free hand to stop Archer. John closes his eyes. Sherlock’s gaze becomes distant while his mind works frantically, then he slowly turns towards the safe and lowers his hands. As Neilson watches him closely, he slowly reaches out a finger towards the keypad and punches the ‘3’ and then the ‘2’. Hesitating for a moment, he then punches ‘2’ and ‘4’. Pausing again, he hits ‘3’ and ‘4’. The safe beeps and noisily unlocks. Irene smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes briefly. John sags lower on his knees and shuts his own eyes again.)
NEILSON: Thank you, Mr Holmes. Open it, please.
(Twisting the button that will open the door, Sherlock looks across to Irene again who lowers her gaze to the floor and makes a tiny jerk with her head. He turns back to the safe.)
SHERLOCK (urgently): Vatican cameos.
(Instantly John throws himself to the floor. At the same moment Sherlock pulls open the door of the safe while ducking down below the fireplace. Inside the safe, a tripwire attached to the door tugs on the trigger of a pistol with an equally long and over-compensatory silencer which is aimed straight out of the safe. The gun fires and Archer – who happened to be standing directly in front of it – is shot in the chest. Rapidly turning and straightening up, Sherlock grabs for Neilson’s pistol and Irene spins around on her knees and savagely elbows her guard in the groin. Pulling the pistol from Neilson’s grip, Sherlock holds the silencer end and smashes the butt across his face and Neilson drops to the floor unconscious. As Irene’s guard crumples under her blow, she grapples for his pistol and is on her feet and aiming it down at him while he’s still falling. Sherlock turns to her.)
SHERLOCK: D’you mind?
IRENE: Not at all.
(As her guard tries to get up, she slams the gun across his face and knocks him unconscious. While she’s distracted, Sherlock reaches into the safe and takes something out of it. Nearby, John has checked Archer over and now stands up.)
JOHN: He’s dead.
IRENE (to Sherlock, continuing to aim her pistol down at her guard): Thank you. You were very observant.
IRENE: I’m flattered.
SHERLOCK: Don’t be.
SHERLOCK: There’ll be more of them. They’ll be keeping a eye on the building.
(Still holding Neilson’s pistol but having removed the silencer [obviously because he doesn’t need to over-compensate ...], he hurries out of the room. John tucks Archer’s gun into the back of his jeans and follows him. Irene goes over to the safe and stares into it wide-eyed. Sherlock trots out onto the street with John behind him.)
JOHN: We should call the police.
(Pointing the pistol into the air, he fires it five times. Nearby, tyres screech.)
SHERLOCK: On their way.
(He turns and trots back into the house.)
JOHN: For God’s sake!
SHERLOCK: Oh shut up. It’s quick.
(He goes back into the sitting room. Irene turns around from the safe to face him.)
SHERLOCK (to John): Check the rest of the house. See how they got in.
(John heads off and Sherlock takes the item which he just stole from the safe out of his pocket and flips it nonchalantly into the air before catching it again.)
SHERLOCK: Well, that’s the knighthood in the bag.
IRENE: Ah. And that’s mine.
(She holds out her hand. Ignoring her, Sherlock switches on the security lock on the phone he’s holding. It requires four letters or numbers to activate it and it has “I AM” above the four spaces and “LOCKED” below them.)
SHERLOCK: All the photographs are on here, I presume.
IRENE: I have copies, of course.
SHERLOCK: No you don’t. You’ll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn’t be able to sell them.
IRENE (lowering her hand): Who said I’m selling?
SHERLOCK (looking at the dead and unconscious bodies lying on the floor): Well, why would they be interested? Whatever’s on the phone, it’s clearly not just photographs.
IRENE: That camera phone is my life, Mr Holmes. I’d die before I let you take it. (She walks closer and holds her hand out again.) It’s my protection.
JOHN (calling out): Sherlock!
SHERLOCK (pulling the phone back and looking at Irene pointedly): It was.
(He turns and leaves the room. She chases after him.
Upstairs in the bedroom, John is kneeling over the silent figure of Kate lying on the floor. Putting his ear to her mouth to check her breathing, he straightens up and takes her pulse. Standing up, he goes into the en suite bathroom and looks at the open window in there. Sherlock, followed by Irene, comes into the bedroom as John comes out of the bathroom.)
JOHN: Must have come in this way.
(He goes into the bathroom to look out of the window. Irene walks anxiously towards Kate.)
JOHN: It’s all right. She’s just out cold.
IRENE: Well, God knows she’s used to that. There’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson.
(Sherlock has come out of the bathroom and nods to him.)
(He leaves the room. Irene goes over to the dressing table, opens a drawer and covertly takes a syringe out of it. Sherlock is looking at the camera phone and doesn’t notice.)
SHERLOCK: You’re very calm.
(She looks round at him blankly.)
SHERLOCK: Well, your booby trap did just kill a man.
IRENE: He would have killed me. It was self defence in advance.
(Walking across to Sherlock, she strokes her hand down his left arm. As he looks down at her hand she steps around behind him and stabs the syringe into his right arm before pulling it out again. He gasps and spins around, trying to grab at his arm.)
SHERLOCK: What? What is that? What ...?
(As his face turns towards her again, she slaps him hard. He stumbles and falls to the floor. She holds out her hand to him.)
IRENE: Give it to me. Now. Give it to me.
(Sherlock’s vision is going fuzzy. Grunting, he tries to get back to his feet.)
IRENE: Give it to me.
(Starting to lose control of his muscles, Sherlock slumps to his hands and knees, still holding onto the phone.)
IRENE: Oh, for goodness’ sake.
(She picks up her riding crop from the dressing table and wields it at him.)
IRENE: Drop it.
(Sherlock continues trying to struggle to his feet.)
IRENE: I ... (she thrashes him) ... said ... (she thrashes him again) ... drop it.
(She strikes him a third time and he falls to the floor, unintentionally dropping the phone.)
IRENE: Ah. Thank you, dear.
(As he lies on his back unable to move, she picks up the phone and types on it, standing over Sherlock and looking down at him smugly.)
IRENE: Now tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They’re not for blackmail, just for insurance.
(She puts the phone into the pocket of Sherlock’s coat which she’s still wearing.)
IRENE: Besides, I might want to see her again.
(Grunting, Sherlock tries to get up. Irene presses him back down to the floor with one foot and the end of her crop.)
IRENE: Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it.
(She gently strokes the end of the crop against his face.)
IRENE: This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you.
(Sherlock’s vision becomes more fuzzy.)
IRENE: Goodnight, Mr Sherlock Holmes.
(She heads for the bathroom just as John walks back into the bedroom.)
JOHN: Jesus. What are you doing?
IRENE: He’ll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse.
(She sits on the windowsill in the bathroom, puts her feet up on the edge of the bath and takes hold of a cord hanging from the ledge.)
JOHN (picking up the syringe lying on the floor): What’s this? What have you given him? Sherlock!
IRENE: He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.
JOHN (kneeling and looking down at his flatmate): Sherlock, can you hear me?
IRENE: You know, I was wrong about him. He did know where to look.
JOHN (standing up again and turning to her): For what? What are you talking about?
IRENE: The key code to my safe.
JOHN: What was it?
(She looks down to Sherlock who is gazing at her barely conscious but still trying in vain to get up.)
IRENE: Shall I tell him?
(John looks down at him for a moment then turns back to Irene just as sirens announce the arrival of the police. Irene smiles at him.)
IRENE: My measurements.
(And with that she pushes her feet against the edge of the bath and topples backwards out of the window, still holding what looked like a cord but is apparently more like a thin rope. John hurries over to the window and looks out while Sherlock still tries vainly to lift himself up but continues to fall back helplessly.)
(As he lapses into unconsciousness, he finds himself – inside his own mind anyway – back at the crime scene in the country and sitting in the driver’s seat of Phil’s car. Irene is standing outside clinging onto the ledge of the rolled-down window and looking in at him urgently.)
IRENE: Got it!
(Blinking and trying to clear his head, he turns as if to get out of the car but she holds up a finger.)
IRENE: Oh, shush now. Don’t get up. I’ll do the talking.
(She goes around to the rear of the car and bends down to look more closely at the exhaust pipe.)
IRENE: So the car’s about to backfire ...
(She stands up again and suddenly she and Sherlock are standing near the hiker in the field while he stands frozen and staring upwards at a forty-five degree angle.)
IRENE: ... and the hiker, he’s staring at the sky. Now, you said he could be watching birds but he wasn’t, was he?
(She walks around to the front of the hiker, following his gaze. Sherlock follows her.)
IRENE: He was watching another kind of flying thing. The car backfires and the hiker turns to look ...
(The hiker turns his head to look back towards the car and at the same moment an object flies in so rapidly that we can’t see what it is. It strikes him on the back of the head, bounces off and skims quickly away. The man falls backwards and for a brief moment Sherlock is back in Irene’s bedroom and falls backwards to the floor. Then he’s back at the crime scene and he and Irene look down at the hiker lying on the ground.)
IRENE: ... which was his big mistake.
(She looks towards the road again.)
IRENE: By the time the driver looks up, the hiker’s already dead. What he doesn’t see is what killed him because it’s already being washed downstream.
(Floating at the edge of the stream is the most unlikely item you’d ever expect to see – a boomerang.)
IRENE: An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel with ... a boomerang. You got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy.
(She turns and smiles at Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK (vaguely): I ...
(He blinks, looking around in confusion.)
SHERLOCK: I ...
(Behind him, a bed rises up to meet him. The angle changes and he sinks down onto the bed and a sheet rises up to wrap around him. His eyes close.)
IRENE (softly): Hush now.
(She leans down over him. Sherlock’s fuzzy view of her shows that she’s no longer in the field but inside a room.)
IRENE (softly): It’s okay. I’m only returning your coat.
(She leans closer towards him, then fades out. Sherlock jerks back into consciousness and finds himself alone and in bed in his own bedroom, fully clothed and covered with a sheet. He lifts his head.)
(He shakes his head, trying to clear it.)
SHERLOCK (louder): John!
(In the living room, John looks round. Sherlock throws back the sheet and kneels up on the bed, then promptly loses his balance, falls forward and rolls over the foot of the bed and onto the floor. John opens the bedroom door and comes in as he sits up.)
JOHN: You okay?
SHERLOCK: How did I get here?
JOHN: Well, I don’t suppose you remember much. You weren’t making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone.
SHERLOCK (getting to his feet): Where is she?
JOHN: Where’s who?
SHERLOCK: The woman. That woman.
JOHN: What woman?
SHERLOCK (stumbling aimlessly around the room): The woman. The woman woman!
JOHN: What, Irene Adler? She got away. No-one saw her.
(Sherlock stumbles over to the open window and looks through it.)
JOHN: She wasn’t here, Sherlock.
(Turning around, Sherlock either falls down again or deliberately drops to the floor – it’s not clear which. While he’s down there he drags himself across the floor and peers under the bed as if looking to see whether Irene is hiding under there, then he squints around as if checking that she’s not hidden under or behind the wardrobe.)
JOHN: What are you ...? What ...? No, no, no, no.
(He hauls Sherlock up and drops him face-down onto the bed.)
JOHN: Back to bed. (He covers him over with the sheet.) You’ll be fine in the morning. Just sleep.
SHERLOCK (blurrily): Of course I’ll be fine. I am fine. I’m absolutely fine.
JOHN: Yes, you’re great. Now I’ll be next door if you need me.
SHERLOCK (fuzzily): Why would I need you?
JOHN: No reason at all.
(He walks out of the room shutting the door behind him. Sherlock’s coat is hanging on the back of the door. A few moments later his pocket lights up as his phone activates and an orgasmic female sigh comes from the speaker. Sherlock opens his eyes and sits up, looking blearily across to his coat. Frowning at it as if realising that it can only have been returned by Irene, he gets out of bed and wobbles across the floor towards it, losing his balance a couple of times en route but managing to stay on his feet. Finally he gets to the door and takes the phone out of his pocket. Bracing himself against the wall he activates the phone. A new text message reads:
Till the next time, Mr. Holmes
Sherlock peers at it for a long moment and then looks around suspiciously, totally oblivious to the fact that the most suspicious thing in the room is the red kiss-shaped lipstick mark just to the left of his mouth.)
NEXT MORNING. Sherlock – now fully recovered – and John are sitting at the table in the living room. John is eating breakfast while Sherlock is reading a newspaper. Mycroft stands nearby.
SHERLOCK: The photographs are perfectly safe.
MYCROFT: In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.
SHERLOCK: She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?
MYCROFT: How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.
SHERLOCK: She’d applaud your choice of words.
SHERLOCK: You see how this works: that camera phone is her “Get out of jail free” card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.
JOHN: Though not the way she treats royalty.
(He smiles sarcastically at Mycroft, who returns the smile humourlessly. Just then the sound of an orgasmic female sigh fills the room. John and Mycroft frown.)
JOHN: What was that?
SHERLOCK (trying to look nonchalant): Text.
JOHN: But what was that noise?
(Sherlock gets up and goes over to pick up his phone from nearby. He looks at the message which reads:
Good morning, Mr. Holmes
SHERLOCK: Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.
(He goes back to the table and sits down again as John looks round at Mycroft.)
JOHN: Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft.
(Mrs Hudson brings in a plate of breakfast from the kitchen and puts it down in front of Sherlock.)
MRS HUDSON (sternly): It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.
MYCROFT: Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson.
SHERLOCK (furiously): MYCROFT!
JOHN (simultaneously and equally furiously): OI!
(Mycroft looks at the three angry faces glaring at him, then cringes and looks contritely at Mrs Hudson.)
MRS HUDSON: Thank you.
SHERLOCK: Though do, in fact, shut up.
(His phone sighs orgasmically again. Mrs Hudson, who was going back into the kitchen, turns around.)
MRS HUDSON: Ooh. It’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?
(Sherlock looks at the latest message which reads:
SHERLOCK: There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.
MYCROFT: I can put maximum surveillance on her.
SHERLOCK: Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is “TheWhipHand.”
MYCROFT: Yes. Most amusing.
(His phone rings and he takes it from his pocket.)
MYCROFT: ’Scuse me.
(He walks out into the hall.)
MYCROFT (into phone): Hello.
(Sherlock watches him leave, frowning suspiciously. John looks at him.)
JOHN: Why does your phone make that noise?
SHERLOCK: What noise?
JOHN: That noise – the one it just made.
SHERLOCK: It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text.
JOHN: Hmm. Your texts don’t usually make that noise.
SHERLOCK: Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise.
JOHN: Hmm. So every time they text you ...
(Right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again.)
SHERLOCK: It would seem so.
MRS HUDSON: Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it’s ...
(The latest text message reads:
I’m fine since you didn’t ask
Sherlock puts down the phone again and goes back to reading the paper which is showing the headline “Refit for Historical Hospital.”)
JOHN: I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?
(Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it’s obscuring his face.)
SHERLOCK: I’ll leave you to your deductions.
JOHN: I’m not stupid, you know.
SHERLOCK: Where do you get that idea?
(Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on his phone.)
MYCROFT: Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.
(He hangs up. Sherlock looks at him.)
SHERLOCK: What else does she have?
(Mycroft looks at him enquiringly.)
SHERLOCK: Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.
(He stands up and faces his brother.)
SHERLOCK: Much more.
(Mycroft looks at him stony-faced. Sherlock walks closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: Something big’s coming, isn’t it?
MYCROFT: Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.
SHERLOCK (locking eyes with him): Oh, will I?
MYCROFT: Yes, Sherlock, you will.
(Sherlock shrugs and turns away.)
MYCROFT: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.
SHERLOCK (picking up his violin): Do give her my love.
(He begins to play the National Anthem, “God Save The Queen.” Mycroft rolls his eyes, turns and leaves the room, Sherlock following along behind him while John grins. As Mycroft hurries down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing.)
Time passes and now it’s Christmas. Fairy lights are strung up around the window frame of the flat and it’s snowing outside. Inside, the living room is festooned with Christmas decorations and cards, and Sherlock is walking around playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on his violin. Mrs Hudson is sitting in his chair with a glass in her hand, watching him happily. Lestrade is standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a wine glass, and John – wearing a very snazzy Christmassy jumper – walks across the room with a cup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. As Sherlock finishes the tune with a fancy flourish, Lestrade whistles in appreciation.
MRS HUDSON: Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!
(Sherlock sketches a small bow to his audience. Mrs Hudson, apparently a little bit squiffy, giggles up at him.)
MRS HUDSON: I wish you could have worn the antlers!
SHERLOCK: Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson.
JOHN (handing her a cup of tea, perhaps in an attempt to sober her up): Mrs H.
(A dark-haired woman in her thirties brings over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake and offers it to Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK (politely): No thank you, Sarah.
(Her face falls. John hurries over to her and puts his arm around her as she turns away.)
JOHN: Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names.
SHERLOCK: No-no-no, I can get this.
(The woman puts down the tray and straightens up, folding her arms and looking at Sherlock rather grimly.)
SHERLOCK: No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?
SHERLOCK: Jeanette! (He grins falsely at her.) Ah, process of elimination.
(John awkwardly shepherds Jeanette away. Sherlock looks across to the door as a new arrival comes in.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, dear Lord.
(Molly Hooper walks in, smiling shyly and carrying two bags which appear to be full of presents.)
MOLLY: Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello.
(John walks over to greet her, smiling.)
MOLLY: Er, it said on the door just to come up.
(Everyone greets her cheerfully. Sherlock rolls his eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, everybody’s saying hullo to each other. How wonderful(!)
(Smiling at him nervously, Molly starts to take her coat and scarf off.)
JOHN (standing ready to take her coat): Let me, er ... holy Mary!
(Lestrade gawps in similar appreciation as Molly reveals that she’s wearing a very attractive black dress.)
MOLLY: Having a Christmas drinkies, then?
SHERLOCK (sitting down at the dining table): No stopping them, apparently.
MRS HUDSON: It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it!
(Molly giggles nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock as he starts typing on John’s laptop. John brings a chair over for her.)
JOHN: Have a seat.
(He goes over to see what Sherlock is looking at. Lestrade touches Molly’s arm to get her attention.)
LESTRADE: Molly? (She turns to him.) Want a drink?
(As she accepts his offer, John leans over Sherlock’s shoulder to look at the screen.)
SHERLOCK: The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.
JOHN (pulling a mock-angry face): Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!
(Sherlock points to the side bar which has one of the press pictures of him in his deerstalker.)
SHERLOCK: And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!
JOHN: People like the hat.
SHERLOCK: No they don’t. What people?
(He continues looking at the laptop as John walks away. Molly turns to Mrs Hudson.)
MOLLY: How’s the hip?
MRS HUDSON: Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.
MOLLY: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.
(An awkward silence falls. Molly looks embarrassed.)
MOLLY: Oh, God. Sorry.
SHERLOCK: Don’t make jokes, Molly.
MOLLY: No. Sorry.
(Lestrade hands her a glass of red wine.)
MOLLY: Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.
LESTRADE: That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted.
(He grins at her.)
SHERLOCK (without looking up from the computer): No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.
(Lestrade’s smile becomes rather fixed. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette is sitting in the chair itself.)
MOLLY: And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?
MOLLY: Sherlock was complaining.
(Sherlock raises his eyebrows indignantly. Molly corrects herself.)
MOLLY: ... saying.
(Nearby, Lestrade has been running Sherlock’s comment through his mind, and his face slowly becomes a picture of exasperation when he seems to realise that it’s probably true.)
JOHN: First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.
JOHN: Shut up, Sherlock.
SHERLOCK: I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.
MOLLY: Sorry, what?
SHERLOCK: In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.
JOHN (quietly, exasperated): Take a day off.
LESTRADE (taking a glass across to the table and putting it down near Sherlock): Shut up and have a drink.
SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.
(He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren’t so carefully wrapped.)
SHERLOCK: It’s for someone special, then.
(He picks up the well-wrapped present, looking at the colour of the paper.)
SHERLOCK: The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.
(John looks anxiously at Molly as she squirms in front of Sherlock.)
SHERLOCK: That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.
(Smiling smugly across to John and Jeanette, he starts to turn over the gift tag attached to the present.)
SHERLOCK: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts ...
(He trails off as he looks down at the writing on the tag. Written in red ink, the greeting reads:
Love Molly xxx
Sherlock gazes at the words in shock when he realises the terrible thing that he has just done. Molly gasps quietly.)
MOLLY: You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.
(As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away ... but then stops and turns back to her.)
SHERLOCK: I am sorry. Forgive me.
(John looks up, startled and amazed at such a human reaction from his friend. Sherlock steps closer to Molly.)
SHERLOCK (softly): Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.
(He leans forward and gently kisses her on the cheek. It’s a sweet and beautiful moment, which is instantly ruined by the sound of an orgasmic sigh. Molly gasps in shock.)
MOLLY: No! That wasn’t ... I – I didn’t ...
SHERLOCK: No, it was me.
LESTRADE: My God, really?!
SHERLOCK: My phone.
(He reaches into his jacket pocket to get the phone. John narrows his eyes.)
SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?
JOHN: Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I’ve heard.
(Sherlock looks at the message which reads simply:
SHERLOCK (walking to the mantelpiece): Thrilling that you’ve been counting.
(He picks up a small box wrapped in blood-red paper and tied with black rope-like string. Instantly he flashes back to the colour of Irene’s lipstick, which was identical to this paper.)
SHERLOCK: ’Scuse me.
(He walks toward the kitchen.)
JOHN: What – what’s up, Sherlock?
SHERLOCK (continuing walking): I said excuse me.
JOHN (calling after him): D’you ever reply?
(Ignoring him, Sherlock walks into his bedroom, sits on the bed and opens the box. Inside is Irene’s camera phone. He takes it out of the box and looks at it closely, then gazes off into the distance thoughtfully.)
(In his own house – or possibly in an official government residence or even just a fancy office – Mycroft is sitting in an armchair by the fireside. His phone rings and he takes it from his jacket, looks at the Caller ID and then, with a look of “Good grief!” on his face, he puts the phone to his ear.)
MYCROFT: Oh dear Lord. We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?
SHERLOCK: I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.
(John has come to the door of the bedroom and stands there listening to the conversation.)
MYCROFT: We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.
SHERLOCK: No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.
(Hanging up the phone, he stands up and walks towards the bedroom door.)
JOHN: You okay?
(He pushes the door closed, shutting John out. At his place, Mycroft stands at the window and gazes out at the falling snow.)
ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Sherlock and Mycroft walk along a corridor to the morgue and go through the door. Molly is waiting inside. She has changed into trousers and a Christmassy jumper and is wearing her lab coat open over the top of her clothes. A body is lying on the table covered with a sheet.
MYCROFT (to Sherlock): The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.
SHERLOCK: You didn’t need to come in, Molly.
MOLLY: That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with ... Christmas.
(Looking awkward, she gestures to the body.)
MOLLY: The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.
(She pulls down the sheet to reveal the face.)
MYCROFT: That’s her, isn’t it?
SHERLOCK (to Molly): Show me the rest of her.
(Grimacing, Molly walks along the side of the table, pulling back the sheet as she goes. Sherlock looks along the length of the body once, then turns and starts to walk away.)
SHERLOCK: That’s her.
MYCROFT: Thank you, Miss Hooper.
MOLLY: Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from ... not her face?
(Mycroft smiles politely at her, then turns and follows his brother. He finds him standing in the corridor outside, looking out of the window. Walking up behind him, he holds a cigarette over his shoulder.)
MYCROFT: Just the one.
MYCROFT: Merry Christmas.
(Sherlock takes the cigarette and Mycroft digs into his coat pocket to find a lighter.)
SHERLOCK: Smoking indoors – isn’t there one of those ... one of those law things?
(Mycroft lights the cigarette for him.)
MYCROFT: We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.
(Sherlock inhales deeply and then blows the smoke out again.)
MYCROFT: How did you know she was dead?
SHERLOCK: She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.
(He takes another drag on his cigarette.)
MYCROFT: Where is this item now?
(Sherlock looks round at the sound of sobbing. A family of three people is standing on the other side of the doors at the end of the corridor, cuddled together and clearly grieving the death of someone close to them. Sherlock and his brother turn to look at the family.)
SHERLOCK: Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?
MYCROFT: All lives end. All hearts are broken. (He looks round at his brother.) Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.
(Sherlock blows out another lungful of smoke, then looks down at the cigarette in disgust.)
SHERLOCK: This is low tar.
MYCROFT: Well, you barely knew her.
(He walks away down the corridor.)
SHERLOCK: Merry Christmas, Mycroft.
MYCROFT: And a happy New Year.
(As his brother continues down the corridor, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, Mycroft gets out his phone and hits a speed dial.)
MYCROFT (into phone): He’s on his way.
(He’s talking to John who is still back at the flat.)
MYCROFT: Have you found anything?
JOHN: No. Did he take the cigarette?
JOHN: Shit. (He looks round to Mrs Hudson.) He’s coming. Ten minutes.
MRS HUDSON: There’s nothing in the bedroom.
JOHN (into phone): Looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?
MYCROFT: No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.
JOHN: I’ve got plans.
(He hangs up.)
JOHN: Mycroft. M...
(The line goes dead. Chewing the inside of his mouth, he walks across to where Jeanette is sitting on the sofa and sits down beside her.)
JOHN: I am really sorry.
JEANETTE: You know, my friends are so wrong about you.
JEANETTE: You’re a great boyfriend.
JOHN (looking a little startled): Okay, that’s good. I mean, I always thought I was great.
JEANETTE: And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.
JOHN: Jeanette, please.
JEANETTE (bitterly, putting on her shoes): No, I mean it. It’s heart-warming. You’ll do anything for him – and he can’t even tell your girlfriends apart.
(She stands up and heads for the door. He jumps up and follows her as she puts on her coat.)
JOHN: No, I’ll do anything for you. Just tell me what it is I’m not doing. Tell me!
JEANETTE: Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes.
JOHN: I’ll walk your dog for you. Hey, I’ve said it now. I’ll even walk your dog ...
JEANETTE: I don’t have a dog!
JOHN: No, because that was ... the last one. Okay.
(Picking up her bag, she storms out.)
JOHN: I’ll call you.
(Exasperated, he turns back into the room as she runs down the stairs. Mrs Hudson looks at him sympathetically.)
MRS HUDSON: That really wasn’t very good, was it?
Shortly afterwards, John is sitting in his chair reading a book. Sherlock comes up the stairs and stops in the doorway of the living room. John looks round at him.
JOHN: Oh, hi.
(Sherlock stands there, his eyes roaming all around the living room.)
JOHN: You okay?
(Sherlock continues to scan the room for a long moment, then turns and walks back to the kitchen door, heading for his bedroom.)
SHERLOCK: Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.
(His bedroom door slams shut. John puts down his book and sighs heavily.)
On to Part 3